


silhouettes of you

by authorallyy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, F/M, I didn't do a lot of research, Mentions of Anxiety, POV First Person, Post Season 1, Pre Season 2, Slow Burn, Soft Mando, but is nothing like rough day, i have no idea where this is going honestly, like probably super slow, mando is a total dad, mentions of slavery and kidnapping, not a lot I promise, oh god where do i start, the pov changes a little at the begining but not for long I promise, the topic is only mentioned, this fic was mosnty written at 2am so I just went with the flow, this is a fun fic just go with it!, this spawned from binging rough day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28917663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authorallyy/pseuds/authorallyy
Summary: I can kill him, right here, right now. One shot, and he would be gone. I would be safe for another month, maybe two. I remember the comment on his armor, and realize that the amount of credits I’d get for it would get me more than just safe passage off this blasted planet.But I hesitate, drawing out this long moment where I catch my breath with quiet gasps. My legs already ached with pushing against the thick mud.I don't have a good grip on his arm. I'm already breathless and stiff, a hard yank and he would gain the upper hand. But he doesn't.Why in stars above would he stop?Why do I?
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	1. CHAPTER 1: SO SHE'S A KILLER

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! first fic in a while. Chapters get longer later on I promise. I already have like 20k written, so..
> 
> Find me at impxlsive.tumbr.com, ask questions or just say hi! I take requests and just like chatting with people!

\----| MANDO

"Mando!" Greef booms, rounding the edge of the shipyard as I and the floating pram stand at the foot of the ramp, letting it rise before we move forward, together. "I was starting to think you wouldn't show, came out to see you to town myself."

"How considerate." I deadpan, turning my head to double-triple check that the child is covered and safely following, even though Nevarro is likely the safest place for us, currently.

"What took you so long?" He ignores my comment, gesturing forward as we all walk towards the main road.

"The third puck. You know how Hoth is." I say simply, as it was easier to amuse his questions than leave him hanging like before- blaming joint trauma. 

And I suppose I don't blame him for being more comfortable around me, that trauma _is_ joint. If I trust anyone from the guild, it’d be him-- still, only about as far as I can throw him-- which is far enough, for the mostly-business relationship we have even after the hell I brought on Nevarro. 

He almost betrayed us. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully forgive him, even if he changed his mind. Rumors spread and I still was dealing with hunters and thugs thinking the kid was worth something. It all was still too close to home.

He does fine for a familiar face to see every few weeks, now that I was in the swing of old rhythms. He seemed faithful now, yet I kept a watchful eye on him, and didn't stay too long if I could help it. Greef offered work as soon as the damages were being repaired, so here I was.

I did have bigger tasks ahead, but with no current leads in returning the kid to the Jedi I decided to work until an opportunity presented itself.

That was four months ago.

There was likely more I could do to seek out a Jedi. Connections, someone always knows somebody, for a price. Hidden beyond the beskar helmet, I knew my expression was cracking as we walked, caught in my thoughts as Greef went on about new buildings and building a proper community. My silence sufficed for now.

The kid had grown on me, that was no surprise.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, I knew I’d have to give him up eventually. If he was fifty years old now, and still mostly reliant on my help, He would outlive me easily. I couldn't be his sole caretaker, and the best course of action would be handing him over to a Jedi, one of his own.

I justified that I traveled enough that a thread to follow will appear eventually. Till then..

I glance again at the pram at my side, eyeing a few passer-bys with barely a tilt of my helmet before moving my eyes forward. 

Till then, he was my foundling to take care of.

I converse in short sentences when prompted, nothing more needed. _Hoth was cold. The other two, no issue. The child is fine. No, don't open the shield, he’s sleeping._ I don't mention that putting the little beast down for a nap was hard enough, he didn't need to go waking him up.

We find ourselves at the usual table, and I sit the pucks down as soon as he sits, already waving drinks to be brought. I ignore the blue spotchka and quietly wait for him to offer the credits.

When I shuffle the currency into my bag, I raise an unseen brow at the single puck he sets on the table. Sitting straighter, I face him proper.

The last time he gave me a single puck, I became a father.

"What is this," I question, going still as Greef offers a serious look. 

"It's a special one, the employer wants it to be the hunters only contract."

Suspicion hits my nerve endings immediately, but my voice doesn't reveal it. "Why."

"Very high value target it seems, or at least he is paying like it is." Sometimes I wish he could see how annoyed I get with him, dancing around the question.

"Who is it?" I ask flatly, that annoyance dipped in suspicion easing into my tone.

He clicks the puck and a blurred holo of a woman appears. Shackled. Angry. Dark hair falls down the back of her shoulders, bunching slightly where a collar chain protrudes. Features are pixelated on the small device, taken while she was in motion, as her posture is.. Feral. Yanking on chains that gather from her neck and arms that leads to empty air, bending her legs in a way that suggests she’s straining hard to rip herself from her confines.

"Sana Doran. He didn't give much details, only that she is to be captured alive and taken directly to the contractor."

Unease tumbles in my stomach as soon as she appears between us. I recognize the situation immediately.

"I don't work for slavers." I remind lowly, which makes him straighten too, fidget.

"He wants me to put my best on this job. He's paying handsomely."

When I don't answer, still as a statue, he continues.

"8,000."

I sigh low enough that the modulator doesn't pick it up. _Dank farik_ , I don't want to deal with slavers or escapees, but the Crest needs parts after the last fight, expensive ones..

Peli would also charge extra for the inconvenience I often bring on her. The child wouldn't soften her up that much, and I refused to go anywhere else.

"Where." I sigh, annoyed and defeated. The price tag was suspicious as the whole situation, but it was very tempting. I think of the green child sleeping soundly just a foot from the table, how that contract left me feeling uneasy as well, start to ‘finish’.

Lightening can't strike twice, can it? It's a job like any other. The kid was.. Special. 

But this girl? Just another stain on my conscience. I couldn't think of it any other way.

\----| _MANDO_

Like the cherry on top, she _had_ to be on Nal Hutta.

I wasn't often uncomfortable in my armor, and when I was it was usually when being thrown around in a fight and having an edge of beskar jab into my sides. But this, the sticky rain and hot humidity made trudging through the city made everything worse. So much worse.

But I would live. I always did.

I never liked this planet. For obvious reasons, it was trouble all around and I often avoided bounties that took me here. Not only was it damp and slimy, it was filled with characters far more unpleasant than I care to deal with. Like slave traders.

Best to get off this planet as soon as possible. A runaway slave should be easy enough, set to head for repairs by tomorrow. 

She had bested three hunters before me, Greef unsure if they were dead or just dropped out of circulation in other ways. It intrigued me to say the least.

I light the puck. Illuminating my visor in familiar blues, is her angry pose. 

She's a fighter, that’s obvious enough. Reminds me of Cara, but smaller, I think, with no way to really gouge proportions. Not as wide in muscle, but has apparently proved herself a challenge.

A challenge made things interesting, but predictable. I doubted I was going to drag her from her corner on a bar, or find her hiding in the swampy jungle of their surroundings. The planet didn't work like that, far too dangerous. 

Judging by the quiet beep of the tracking fob, she was likely in the city. Doing what? Not hiding, it seems.

It didn't take long to find a trail, leaving the child slumbering in his floating cot at the ship. As much as I rather he was by my side no matter what, Hutta was crawling with the slimiest of criminals, bringing him would only put a target on my head.

And I wanted to be done with this as quickly as possible. Sooner I could leave this planet, sooner I could try to forget my actions.

I assumed he knew the drill, I wouldn't be gone long if he wasn't left with someone else or if he was with me. I expected to be back within an hour or two, at least with intel to follow after checking on the ship.

First I wanted to see if I could find any of the sister fobs, thinking it might lead to better understanding who I was hunting. Was she a killer or was she just hard to find? An important distinction.

I ask a few clipped questions to the drink sling at the cantina, who points me down the alley along the side of the wide building. _Yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about._ _She got in a fight I’d think, came in bloody-- hey, I didn't ask why, not the first to come in looking like a slice of hell._

I step out within moments, following the lead. Twisting under heavy rain past closed doors and scattered trash, I spot a gate that blocks off the end where large dumpsters are tucked away. The gate obviously has been broken and repaired, looking at the shine of new metal against rusty old at the locking contraption.

I spot the pointed curve of the sensor poke out of the green-tinted mud just a few steps farther into the alley, barely seen in the heavy overcast.

Hopping the fence with little issue, as I realize that not only is the beacon smashed, but it's accompanied by a body rotting heavily, mostly buried by mud and masked by the stink the slimy rain gives in these particularly dank alleys.

So, she's a killer.

Footsteps are long gone. No weapons are to be found, but I don’t root in the mud more than to confirm the tracking beacon was there, smashed. Then back over the fence, to the street.

The next sister fob seemed to be out in the jungle. No, I didn't need to check the other two. Instead, I set course for her.

\-----| _SANA_

I hated this planet. I didn't bother to learn it’s name, I didn't bother to care. I wanted off, but seeing as that was not possible currently, I was stuck.

Stuck but free, at least.

The slavers were nasty people. Most in Con Creeda were, too. The underbelly of this planet, I understand, too weak to survive in the main city Bilbousa, a two day walk through the swampy jungles. Some grew up here with no hope to leave, while I ran away. Escaped my to-be owner and decided civilization would be easier to navigate than the dangerous wilderness.

And I made due. Scrambled for work, hoping I was inconspicuous to make some credits and get off the planet. Two problems: no one paid enough to save up, and there was a bounty on my head. I found that out pretty early, and I’ve been haunted by the thought of being hunted for the last five months.

Apparently I cost enough credits to pursue a slave they owned for twenty minutes, _tops_.

I had taken down three hunters so far. Sloppily, but effective none the less. The first was out of pure survival, I told myself that I can live with killing another person with the right reasoning, while the other two were a matter of circumstance-- the swamps were full of dangerous beasts, and I had gotten flat lucky I wasn’t eaten or dragged under the water myself. When the next comes, and it seems as if it's overdue by now, I’m unsure if I can go through it again.

I need to get off this kriffing planet.

But I have no way. I can't afford passage, and definitely can’t afford my own ship. I’m stuck on this horrible planet till further notice, a sitting duck who’s resolve for protecting herself is dwindling.

Then the Mandalorian arrives.

The cantina I bus buzzes with the news, some of the more unsavory types going into hiding just in case. Some were young and cocky, sitting with the feet up on tables now that the cantina wasn't packed like sardines. Still, who did stop for a hot meal and drink did enough to keep me busy like any other night, quietly noting the comments I was hearing.

_Rogue Mandalorian. Had beef with the guild._

_Wears a suit of pure beskar, and there's a growing pile of people that have died trying to steal it._

_I heard he took down a whole bar just to rope one guy._

_I heard he’s a bounty droid under the mask, that’s how he works so fast._

_You’ll never see him coming._

I don't show it, but the comments I keep hearing travel like rumors, making my stomach settle unpleasantly. He can't be here for me, the probability.. For a hunter at his skill level, a damn Mandalorian, he must be after someone, anyone else on this criminal-infested planet.

My shift ends, and with my daily credits in hand I escape into the dark wetness, avoiding main streets. The inn I call home, not inconspicuous at all, was an unmarked door at the end of an alley, where a thin gate leads to a small shipyard and past it, wet jungle. 

The rain had subsided into a misty drizzle as I dodge crowded spaces between alleys and side-streets. I slow my pace when I approach the inn, readying myself for a trip into the swamps. Time to move, make the go bag, and disappear. Eager to get out of the sticky mist, I step into the small bar that makes up the first floor of the inn, and quickly see the tower of armor with his back to me at the bar, shiny even in the dim lighting. 

_Beskar._

Not one to tempt fate, I peel out as soon as I come in, heart thumping painfully against my chest. _He can't be here for me._ But I don't know anyone else staying there that would be a high enough threat to commission a Mandalorian.

When the hiss of the bar door sounds behind me, instinct tells me maybe the slavers were the kind of people to want the best of the best. With those not cutting it thus far, maybe hiring someone with a.. _better skill set_ was smart.

I throw myself full on sprint as soon as footsteps move from the door behind me.

And they follow. _Crik!_

I'm already going away from the jungle treeline, like an idiot. I know the side streets well enough now but the metal walls and slick mud is suffocating, my feet can't move fast enough past the wet ground. I turn and twist and almost slide into the thicker patches as I go, knowing full well there was no way to lose him. The mud, my tracks are distinct and I don't dare head to more populated streets- if I survive this, then I still need people to trust me with work.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , I don't know what to do but run. But it wastes energy in this sucking mud, and in the adrenaline flooding my veins I get the equally dumb idea and stop, digging my boots into the sticky wetness as it sucks in my feet.

I surprise him with my change of speed I think, and for a split second I get the upper hand. I don't bother attacking his beskar armor, knowing that was a broken hand waiting to happen. But I see the open strip at his sides, likely padded but not with impenetrable metal.

Instinct and muscle memory overtake my senses. I duck, and snap his liver with a sharp jab. _Yes!_

The grunt passes his modulator, but he’s quick to retaliate. I can't move my feet, not really, but I slide around with all the strength in my legs as I punch and he blocks, ducking under attacks and slipping to turn my body, to trap his arm and flick my blaster at his face. The tip clanks against his helmet, finding itself under the rim.

And he stops.

I can kill him, right here, right now. One shot, and he would be gone. I would be safe for another month, maybe two. I remember the comment on his armor, and realize that the amount of credits I’d get for it would get me more than just safe passage off this blasted planet.

But I hesitate, drawing out this long moment where I catch my breath with quiet gasps. My legs already ached from struggling against the thick mud.

I don't have a good grip on his arm. I'm already breathless and stiff, a hard yank and he would gain the upper hand. But he doesn't.

_Why in stars above would he stop?_

My head thumps, unable to think straight in the moment. I wasn't as strong as him, my labored breaths that I can't contain proof of that. If he’s winded in the slightest, the modulator at his helmet does not reveal it.

“Please,” I whisper, unable to hear myself over the heartbeat in my ears. I plead to him as if I’m not the one holding his arm down. I’m in control, all things considered, but the concept is foreign and fleeting and I don't have a clue what to do with it.

Cold metal nudges my exposed skin at my hip, clothes jostled in the fight.

“Put down the blaster.” he orders, emotionless. He’s _not_ winded.

I meet where his eyes would be and realize how terrifying he is, taller than me, twice as broad with his armor. An emotionless hunter, and I am his prey.

I never had control. Whatever game he was playing at, it was just just some sort of cat and mouse.

The feeling of his blaster makes my limbs tremble. I blink sweat and misty rain from my eyes. It takes a moment for me to realize I was still standing there, stuck in shock or in fear, before I slowly unhook my blaster from under his helmet, lowering my arm and releasing his hand as I did so.

Slowly, yet my muscles still tense like we were still fighting, anxiety ricocheting off my body in electrifying waves.

His blaster doesn't move.

"I'm not going willingly,” I force my voice even, taking a last shallow breath before steeling my expression back at his beskar stare. "In fact I rather go back to that place dead than alive."

He's as still as a statue. Blaster still pressed into my side, with no pressure but present enough that I could never forget its presence. 

That is my plea. I can't say more, there's no reason to. He might as well shoot me in my gut and drag me back to the slave holding bleeding out, because as soon as he moves I'm putting an ounce of plasma into his foot.

I can't tell if it's also baskar or not, as the rest of him is. Both our feet are caked in a decent layer of mud, but I have to try.

I can't out skill him, but I can slow him down.

I can hear him sigh past the modulator, but before he speaks he lowers the blaster and I act. I don't see if it sinks into his foot or pings away, but I dodge his arm and make a break for it nonetheless. No closed off alleyways this time, I knew this side of the city better now. I had no where to go but to weave my way towards the jungle and hope to deter him with rough conditions, so that's what I aim for.

I only make it around two corners, skidding in the mud before constricting wire binds my torso. I yelp as I fall harshly into my side, thankfully just shy of a shallow puddle, and grunt in pain as my blaster is pinned underneath me, pressing hard into my hip.

I panic more than I expected to, with my arms pinned harshly against my sides. I thrash my legs, forcing my weight to shift so I can stand again, torso digging painfully into the thin cord as I squirm.

"Nice try," he responds dryly just out of view, as I bend to my back to see him reel the cord from his wrist. His one beskar-protected boot, partially cleaned of mud by the plasma, shines dauntingly at me as he approaches. "Walk or drag?"

Even in the panicked adrenaline coursing through my veins, I understand most quarry don't get this option. Especially not after the stunt I just pulled.

The heavy rain that day made the whole city a lake of slimy mud. My decision is made for me immediately.

"Walk." I choose, my lungs struggling to suck in air.

The cord unhooks from his wrist, and he bends to poke fingers under the wire to pull me to my feet with a single, strong yank. He tucks the wire end in a loop, securing it, before leading me silently down the alley.

I notice he pockets my blaster as well, tucked and hidden on the opposite side that I walked, out of reach by any stretch of my mind.

It takes a few minutes walking in an awkward gait beside him for the adrenaline to finally tamper off. In its place is fear, as I tighten my limbs against my sides to test the wire. It doesn’t give.

Tears spring and I blink them away. _No_. I won't do _that_ , just yet. I can't afford to. So far I relied on fight or flight, just had to find my moment to do so.

He had to release the cord eventually, right?


	2. CHAPTER 2: SO AM I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! 
> 
> I don't really have much to say, besides that my tumblr (impxlsive) is usually a chapter ahead. I'm posting chapter three same day I'm posting this, so go check it out if you're interested! Also my ask is always open if you want to say hello!

\----| MANDO

I sigh, pulling my blaster from her side. I think of the kid and I know what I _should_ do, massive payout or not.

But then she shoots my foot three times so quick it feels like one long blur of green, plasma ricocheting off the baskar and almost seering into my thigh as I bend instinctively away from the arc. My freed arm barely snaps out for her wrist, anything I can grab before she’s off, feet slapping sickly through the mud.

My body moves on impulse, jogging through the heavily disturbed mud after her. I don't feel my fingers press the release on the tripwire, and I certainly don’t feel the yank when she falls to the mud with a painful cry just moments after her escape attempt.

I approach slowly, watching her squirm from the sudden restraints.

Reality hits all at once, what was I thinking? I can't let every stray quarry I take pity on into my ship. Sure, they are very few and very far between, but it only brings trouble. The kid was a handful and a half already, I didn't need a stowaway ex-slave taking up space in my hull, likely to bring other hunters who are after her for me to deal with..

It was dangerous in so many ways. _No_ , I’m taking her in and moving on to the next bounty.

"Nice try," I give, even though her eyes seer spitefully into my frame. It was a decent distraction after all, whether it would have wounded me or not. 

"Walk or drag?" I offer, deciding we both had enough of the mud for one night.

A million emotions flash over her face before she steels her expression.

"Walk." 

So I pull her up, secure the cord, and lean to take the blaster that falls from her grip. I tuck it away, before leading her towards the street, the fastest way towards the ship. The owner's estate was on the other side of the planet, flanking another large city. A quick trip in the Razor should go smoothly as long as the kid is asleep. I'll drop her off and get my credits, then try to forget the heavy weight on my conscience at what I was doing. Gotta keep that in check, and not think about it too much. If the kid was awake, he had a second sense for these sorts of things, and would be wailing and disruptive till those feelings fell away.

She's silent on the walk back. I steal glances as we approach the shipyard, she has a thousand yard stare as she steps through the sticky mud.

I'm just dropping her off. For all I know, she's a.. Maid. She’ll cook meals for some rich slaver, and not be subjected to much besides basic servitude. _She'll be fine._

Lying to myself only gets so far.

I sit her on the old metal cot off the wall of the hull, trading the cord that digs into her skin with some durasteel cuffs as I connect her to the chain of the bed. Leftover cargo boxes that needed to be cleaned out blocked my view of her, but also her view of my personal cot, as I opened the door to check on the child. Awake, thruster knob in hand, rolling around in the rough blanket as he played. At my sudden appearance he squeals, pushing himself on his feet to stumble forward, little green hand on my beskar stomach plate.

"Hey," I greet quietly, trying to keep this brief. I was sure he was hungry, likely ravenous, but he'd have to wait just a little longer. I snatch some ration jerky from a high shelf, one I was sure he was able to get into with his abilities when I had to leave him alone, and let him have a few strips. 

Ball forgotten in my covers, he plops down and gnaws at the dried meat, and I assume he understands that it's only to tide him over till later, where we both would have a real meal. He offers no squeal of retaliation when I click the door shut, so I leave him to be safely tucked away with his snack.

Her eyes are on me as I round the durasteel crates, making me pause.

Her hands are twisted on the chain of the bed, but the way she's doing it wasn't going to get her far. Not the right angle, the position she was restrained in didn't give her much room to saw the binding away, or whatever she was trying to accomplish.

If she notices anything of what just happened, she doesn't voice it. Instead she slowly moves her hands away, grunting as she strains her arms behind her to settle in a more neutral position.

I stood for a long moment, deciding she was secure enough for the five-minute flight and the kid was content enough to wait till I got back. I step up the cockpit ladder without a word, kicking the ship into action as we ease into the murky sky.

The coordinates given lead us to an estate, all right. We pass guarded gates that make her freeze, body stiff as they pull the bag from her torso, then the jacket and small hidden satchel that sags with credits. 

I stay motionless, only unhooking the cuffs when prompted before clipping the back on when she's properly disarmed, left without much but the tight long sleeve on her back and worn pants still caked with mud. It's a short walk around the groomed greenery, to where a tall man with ivory hair meets us.

"Ah yes, Greef told me you would get the job done," he compliments, watching the girl stumble just in front of me, partially covered in mud, with arms behind her bound by the cuffs. He reaches for her and she moves back, as a dark look passes his eyes.

Likely because I and many guards offer judgemental eyes, he withholds his reprimand. Instead, he gestures to the open door behind him.

"Step inside, it feels as if it will rain any moment."

He moves inward, and we silently follow, as I create a solid barrier behind her as we move. I don't need to touch her to get her to move, as she understands compliance is her best bet for the time being.

She still looks frozen. Like a cornered animal, still with shock before fight or flight kicks in.

Regret seeps into my thoughts, too late to act upon it.

Were led to the left into a slick office, with an oval table and many chairs. He gestures to a side table against the wall, where a case stands open, credits laid in even rows for me to expect.

And I do. I don't need to look long, as my head turns to meet his gaze. I think that he sees it as understanding on my part, as a nasty smile crosses his face before he turns back to Sana. His hand moves in a blur, and her stiff posture changes to a more planted one, bending at the pain of the blow to her cheek.

I expected this, all things considered with slavers. The smack, the talking to about pets running away from this gracious home she had been given. 

I recognize how her cheeks suck in, how her lips pucker as she draws saliva into her mouth. I raise an unseen brow as my chest stirs, watching silently as he leans into her, waiting for her apology. Instead getting an eyeful of spit made him step back in disgust.

"Fuck. You." She replies with a satisfied glare, half her face an angry red, a string of saliva running down her chin, down her throat. My chest stirs again as the second slap hits, backhanded and hard enough to knock her off her feet.

My blaster is trained on him before I can think through this plan. Two at the gate, two more in the garden, three in the entrance and likely more to come flooding from the many rooms around us-- i'm outnumbered but that is in no way to my detriment. I don't have time to think, I just act, because that's what she does as soon as she sees the glint of metal of his blaster in response to mine.

Up on her knees and pushing to her feet, she hooks her head under his arm and crashes him into the table behind him, smacking his back into the solid metal of the table top. He lets out a strangled groan as his blaster falls and skids under the table when footsteps clamor to see what happened. My blaster finds new targets at the door. One-two, tossed back by the plasma blast, laid still just outside the door. 

"Mandalorian, I'm surprised," the man interjects, pained, as Sana pulls back to assess the situation. She can't do much but what she already did, eyes flicking to me to see what happens next.

Unceremoniously, I turn the blaster to him. "So am I." I deadpan, sending two shots into his chest.

\----| SANA

I don't get a chance, even when he swaps the cord for durasteel cuffs. 

I don't struggle, feeling the grip he had on my wrists. No, he easily pulled my arms back to cuff to the thick chain holding the fold-away cot opposite of the hull door. The ramp rises, and instead of heading up to where I assumed the cockpit was, he steps around some loose cargo boxes to a door. I can only see the top of the frame, seeing it open to a small space, likely his bed.

A squeal comes from his corner of the ship. What the-

- _A distraction!_ I’ll take it.

I bend my arms, testing the durasteel. I wasn't strong enough to break them, but the chain on chain.. Might work to wear something away.. Weaken it maybe? I grind the chain together, holding my breath to suppress any grunts of discomfort as I bend into my ribs, the ones that my blaster jammed itself into. I was already going to have bruises all over.

Too soon, he rounds the crates, cot door closed. He stares for a moment, almost waiting for me to continue.

I don't think I was getting far. 

Fine. I settle my arms, trying not to screw my face as my ribs pinch again. At least I hope it's just a bruise.

He seems content with that, stepping past me and up to the cockpit. _Great, cool._

I’m already so sore.

The trip is shorter than I hoped. We land as he’s unhooking me, only to secure the cuffs again with that impossible grip. It wasn't terribly tight on my skin, he wasn't hurting me-- but there was no give, no room to wiggle. I'd think he was a bounty droid if I didn't check him in his liver earlier.

The walk is short from there. He keeps that same grip on my arm as we walk. Unbreakable. _Dammit._

We round a gravel walk up to a gated home, various fauna poking up over the wall as we approach the gate.

I recognize the symbol at their shoulders. _Vak Goren_. _My ex-owner._

That pain thrums faster in my chest, but I’m frozen when I'm stopped before the gate. The two guards frisk me, pulling roughly at the leather holding my bag, my holster, my credits. All I had, gone in the pocket of some asshole guard.

One passes a comment to the other. Something about their kid needing a new jacket anyway. Then they are removing the cuffs to rip the jacket from my back, before the Mandalorian dutifully recuffs me again.

I’m mortified, but seething. No, not yet-- with all three of them all having blasters ready to be trained on my retreating frame, I didn't have a good chance to run. _Not yet._

That window was closing quickly, and I felt like a cornered animal. I took quiet breaths to ease that shake of anxiety.

We’re let in, and I’m led around fancy hedge work and silvery planters. There, at the front entrance, is Vak Goren. Just as decrepit as I last saw him, the pin at his chest the same symbol as the guards.

"Ah yes, Greef told me you would get the job done," he announces as we approach, a sly smile at his lips. His voice is gruff and even-tempered, speaking in slow syllables to draw them out, to hold out attention for house a moment longer.

He reaches out to me, and I bend back, stepping away. We share a dark look as he hesitantly draws his hand back. I was going to pay for that, but I didn’t care. He wasn’t touching me without a fight. He turns his gaze to the Mandalorian beside me.

"Step inside, it feels as if it will rain any moment."

He moves to usher me along, but I’m already moving. I didn't get this far last time I met Vak, barely to his cruiser before I made a break for the swamps. Idiot, leaving me untethered to anything. Let's hope he hasn't learned his lesson.

I follow him to a side office, barely glancing at the decorum of the entryway. I see the guards though, and tally that for later.

We all shuffled into an office, one that was meant for group meetings or something thereof. What did this guy do? All I know is that he had the money to employ a Mando--

_Mother of stars._ I catch a glimpse of the stacks of credits, and it must be a small fortune. The Mandalorian steps towards them, as Vak turns to me.

The slap almost sends me to the floor, surprised at the speed. I catch myself, planting my feet and bending to even out my balance.

I don't hear him, but see his lips move in some prolific speech about my escape, I’d assume. I gather where it’s leading, fueled by spite and the sting in my cheek, I decide to reply the only way he deserves.

I gather spit, just like I did when he bought me the first time around, and launch it squarely in his face as soon as he stops to look me in the eye.

“Fuck. you.” I glare, shoulders tensing for the blow I knew was coming, just like the first time.

He reels backwards, wiping sip from his face. He doesn’t hesitate to backhand me to the floor.

The ringing in my ears overlaps all senses. _Stars, that was hard._ I hit the floor, and as soon as vision returns I’m greeted to the Mandalorians intimidating visage closer than before, blaster pointed to Vak’s head.

Then, he pulls his own blaster from under his robes.

Fight or flight hits all at once, and I go headfirst into the fight. I scramble but quickly throw my shoulder into him, slamming Vak into the steel table behind him. 

A satisfying crack sounds, and while nothing seems immediately broken he groans in pain all the same. Helpless to do much else, I pull back, only to flinch at the blaster fire by my head. Bodies slump behind me and suddenly I’m deafened by the rush of blood to my ears. Adrenaline, a drug on its own.

"Mandalorian, I’m surprised," He grunts, as you realize the Mandalorian’s blaster moves swiftly back to him.

"So am I." He replies deftly, before sending him flat on his office table. I flinch, but my feet are frozen in shock for a moment.

I was doing this. Really doing this. And the Mandalorian was backing me up. I meet his gaze, or at least I think I do.

_What changed?_

It's a little unbelievable, for a split moment. He went through capturing me all up until now. Was it a change of heart? Was the pile of credits not enough?

He doesn't even look back to the pile when he approaches. 

Adrenaline slaps me into gear as soon as the cuffs are off, realizing the next plan of action. He leads first and I follow, as I spot the glint of _my_ blaster at his hip. I don't hesitate as I pull it from him, pointing it as the incoming flood of guards. My arm flexes as I shoot, my speed only just short of his, as he remembers where they stood watch better than I do.

Out the office and into the gravel yard, I let him lead us towards the hedges in the center of the wide walkway. He peaks around the edge as the gate opens ahead, blaster fire flying over the greenery.

Hands capture me from behind, yanking me away.

Instinct overrides and I struggle out of the grip with a grunt, turning to see my captor before he slams a fist into my nose, exploding with pain. Biting back the yelp, I smack his hand away and reel blindly for the strongest punch of my life, one that floors the guard but likely breaks my hand in the process.

Pain is an understatement. I curl my hand to my chest, unable to move for a moment the pain fogs my thoughts instantly. _Just one second..gather myself.._

"Keep moving," The Mandalorian’s voice comes even and strong, pulling me from the wave of dizziness. _Yes, move, move!_

I cover him with a shaky grip in my good hand as he dispatches the guards at the gate easily, my help not needed. As soon as we pass the threshold of the gate, streams of color passing overhead as guards round the garden to find us, I launch into a run with the Mandalorian just behind. Just push and push, past the unmarked awnings and doors and down the thin road, to the overarching gate housing the Mandalorian’s ship along with dozens others sitting in wait. I can't breathe, I can't think, I just move till I almost collide with the cargo of his ship, hull opening as we both approach.

I would think he knows what to do, being a bounty hunter and all a quick getaway should be in his basic vocabulary. Instead, as the adrenaline wanes and pain grows exponentially, he speaks.

"Stay." One word that sends me reeling, furrowing brows as I nod, _of course I'm not going anywhere, buckethead!_

"Get us off this planet," I order back, realizing my lips are slicked with blood. I fumble with my blaster’s safety and tuck it under my arm as I gauge the damage at my nose, watching him disappear up the cockpit ladder.

I’m bleeding, my head hurts and my cheeks are numb, my hand is broken and the adrenaline leaves me entirely-- I just watched- no participated in massacring a team of guards. Pain burns hard all over but the sheer amount of death I just witnessed floors me, and I almost bend and collapse where I stood. Instead, I stumble to the cot, still down where I was chained to earlier. I’m able to grab the same chain as he literally throws me into hyperdrive.

When he comes down, seeing the likely bloody mess I was, he steps to the netted cubbies and returns with a medkit.

He pauses as he approaches, before offering the kit. I take it, giving him a contemplative look.

“Refresher?” I ask, deciding I rather have a moment alone anyway, not just to lick my wounds.

He steps away, gesturing to a closed door. My mouth is dry, save the wetness of blood. The silence is stifling, besides the shake of the hull at the speed we're traveling. Awkward, claustrophobic, overwhelming, I needed a minute alone.

So I give a nod of thanks, quickly disappearing into the ‘fresher.

Before I open the kit, I plant my hands on the metal sink counter in a way that's comfortable, and force myself to take a few deep breaths.

_I did it for survival. If I didn't, I would be hurt, dead, or worse, enslaved. It was okay to feel, but it was not okay to freak out over it._

I take a moment to mantra that, compartmentalizing those thoughts for another time, I suppose.

After a moment, I think I was more worried over having to deal with the possibility of a broken hand. It wasn't the first person I killed or saw be killed, nor will it be the last.

I stand straight and run the water, biting my lip gently as I eased my hand under the tap. The water runs red, leaving the oozing pink openings at my knuckles for me to see. My stomach does a flip, heart in my throat again as I take in the sight. _It's fine, it's fine.._

I dry it with some gauze, and immediately hit it with bacta. I let the bacta dry, carefully flexing my fingers. That was a good sign, even though it still hurt like hell, stretching the damaged skin at the joint hurt but the bone underneath was intact. The bacta solidified like its own bandage, and if I was careful, maybe it'll scab over before long.

Then there was my face.

I wasn’t bleeding anymore, but red streaked down my chin, drying at the point where it would drip off the curve, halfway to my neck. My nose was broken, a little bent. 

_Shit._

I started by carefully washing the red from my face, not to disturb the clotting in my nose, for now. My face is still pink, and I know it isn't from cleaning my skin raw. I was definitely going to bruise around my eyes, the shadow sneaking in. my cheeks were flushed and out of my control, skin sensitive after being slapped around. I sighed into the mirror.

I had broken my nose once before. Then, I was only about ten, and got into a fight with a neighbor kid. He wasn't afraid to throw a punch like I was, resulting in running home with blood all over my face. 

My father put both his pointer fingers on the sides of my nose, told me the first line of a joke, and in the few seconds it distracted me he set my nose in one movement. It hurt like hell, but it was over, healing fast alongside the bacta.

I put my fingers on the sides of my nose, and stared at myself in the mirror.

“Why was the droid so angry?” I asked myself quietly, knowing full well it wasn’t going to distract me this time. I pushed the (bone? Cartilage? I didn’t want to think about it) back into place with a quick movement, not as precise as my father. Letting out a list of expletives quietly into the sink, I gathered my breath. I watched my blood drip to the steel sink as the pain subsided slightly.

_Because people kept pushing it’s buttons._

I sealed my nose with bacta and a plaster, taking a few more deep breaths. It's all done, blood cleaned and washed away, medkit packed again.

I did lift my shirt to check for bruising. It was a little early to tell, but my rib was tender to the touch. I sighed again into the mirror. Better than that being broken, too.

When I emerge, the Mandalorian is gone. I step over to the cubby he took the kit from and put it back, before glancing about. I probably shouldn’t touch anything else.

So I return to the wall cot. Scooting my back to the cold wall of the hull, I settle my head lazily against its surface. Man, adrenaline really zaps the energy from me. I look around the hull, the dim lights above softly illuminating crates, netting that holds spare junk, the dilapidated carcass of a insect-like droid poking out from one near the storage room. The hull itself was a small space, doors on either end leading to the refresher, the Mandalorian’s private cot, a closed off storage closet I assume and a wall closet with complicated controls beside it, likely locked.

I also prominently noticed the carbonite facility beside the hull door. Any slabs were tucked out of the way, the flat rectangle where it’s created empty and ready for its next victim.

I wonder if the Mandalorian would have put me in carbonite if we had to go off planet, before he helped me escape. There had to have been something that changed, right? To go to all the trouble of bringing me in only to kill your contractor and shoot your way out with an ex-quarry in tow?

I hitched my brows together as my head wobbled on the metal interior. Hyperspace shook the ship, if only slightly. 

If only he wasn't so expressionless. To know what he was thinking at that moment, to understand his sudden motivations.

But he was a Mandalorian. I knew little about their culture, other than they make good bounty hunters, following a creed that binds them to autonomy and violence. I didn't know why, or how this Mandalorian got into all of it, but I knew that if he took the creed, he would never show his face.

I tighten my arms around my sides, a slight chill seeping into the hull. My side aches quietly under my shirt.

I don’t think I’m not sticking around to find out. Best to get out of his way before he changes his mind again.

After long stretches of quiet with just the hum of the ship to lull me asleep, I doze off and on as we go. I have no idea how much time has passed, faint dreams of slimy rains and monstrous armored hunters.

My face hurts as I uncurl the expression the dreams gave me.

My neck is stiff and aching, butt numb against the metal cot. I blink my eyes open, lifting off from the hull wall to ease my shoulders into a steady roll. After a moment, feeling returns and the ache starts to fade.

It takes a moment to really absorb where I was, my brain still stuck on that planet.

The ship. The Mandalorian’s ship. The supply crates had been moved, stacked more so out of the way but it looked all the same.

I stretch, arms out far above my head as I arch my back. I do feel better after what I hope was just a little nap. Peeking at my hand, it had scabbed and was on its way to healing over thanks to the bacta. I flexed my fingers, pain much more manageable, thankfully not broken.

Making me jump, footsteps sound above, as he comes down the cockpit ladder.

There's a brown bundle in his arms, obvious wide, green ears poking from it.

The cooing, baby noises from the first trip in the ship. I didn't care what it was at first, I just hoped it was a big enough distraction to formulate a plan.

And it wasn't. I suppose it worked out in the end.

"You're awake." He comments, distorted by the modulator. He stands still as he watches me, the bundle snoring softly as he waits.

"Apparently so." I reply, unsure on where to go from here. He takes lead, turning to the private cot where he deposits the green bundle into a hamper bed above his own before closing the door with a gentle hiss.

The hull shakes a little, before settling back into its gentle hum. Were we still in hyperdrive? I had no sense of time or location in the windowless hull.

"Where are we going?" I ask when he turns back my way, watching him carefully as he seemingly stares for a second.

"Tatooine."

I had only a small sense of scale of the universe, but knew enough that it was a long jump from the sector we were previously in.

Whatever. It would work. Tatooine, I remember being told it was dry and sandy. A perfect change of pace from the gross swampy planet we were both just on.

"That works." I voice, setting my head back on the hull wall. When he doesn't move, I explain. "Drop me off there, I'll be out of your hair soon enough."

He stares for a long moment, longer than I like. His stare, suffocating and silent. He still wore all that beskar, making his presence that much more intimidating.

I catch the sigh again, as his visor dips slightly in thought. He turns, reaching into a high shelf like before, and walks over and sets a handful of things at my side. 

A ration pack, jerky, and a container of water.

"Settle in, don't touch anything. It'll be a few days in hyperspace." He speaks, flat and to the point. I nod, because what else can I do? 

I settle. He disappears into the cockpit, and I absolutely touch things, just out of the principle. Nothing important, I leave the controls to a double door closet alone, and the wall cot where he set the.. Baby down in. Was it a baby?

I imagine that was the exact reason he told me not to touch anything, so I avoided it as well. As rebellious my first instinct was, I don't prod too much, knowing if I had my own personal space like this last thing I’d want is a stranger poking around, especially after I told them not to. He didn't have much anyway, or it was at least tucked away out of the main hull in some fashion. He had things, a livelihood here, a small space to prepare food or count credits after a bounty. The junk littering the storage nets told stories I couldn’t possibly piece together. 

I suddenly felt homesick. My mother was a hoarder, too. Trinkets and other things littering the shelves of my childhood home.

I didn't have my things. I was in too much pain to think to find them at the gate, and now I was at square one again. Those million curses came back. All that work! All the nervous waiting around, hoping to live another night to work another day to maybe one day get off that planet. Gone, all at once. I was glad the Mandalorian took my blaster from me before he took me in, or I would have lost that as well. I have nothing but the shirt on my back and a sorrowful pit in my stomach.

Speaking of.. I’m still caked with dry blood, the sickly green mud, and that suffocating sweat from the rains.. I probably smelled awful.

_I feel gross._

I think to ask first, but I assume if he hears me use the fresher to shower he’d understand. Closing myself in I start the water, quickly cleaning the mud from my pants, the fabric much more durable than the shirt that was thankfully saved for the most part. It’s a dark long sleeve, hiding the blood staining the front with barely any discoloration. I still rinse it in the sink, squeezing it out and laying it flat while I shower as fast as I can.

I don't use his things, which are few and far between. I just rinse, rinse and scrub to at least be free from that planet’s stick I had never grown used to.

My shirt is still wet when I step out, but so was I. I change quickly, pushing wet hair from my face.

The mirror offers my bruised visage. The arch of my nose is a deep red with bruises, stretching under my eyes. My lip is cut open, but that and the scar at my nose was already healing over from the bacta. It would be sore, unbelievably sore, and I’d look like hell for a few days.

But I was free.

For rushing through my shower and cleaning off my clothes, I have to take a moment to lean over the sink and gather myself. This surely wasn’t the end of it, the slave syndicate might want me back, or maybe that man had friends, family, who might ‘inherit’ me. 

The thought is sickening. As soon as I realized what I was stolen for, I knew I wasn't going to let it happen. The sediment still stands, I rather be dead than a slave, any kind of slave.

It hurts to sniffle, but I do. I settle my emotions, focusing hard on the blooming red under my eyes, telling myself it was a small price to pay for freedom.

We were going to Tatooine. Far farther than I expected to escape to, and that was good. It makes it harder for them to find me. That thought is comforting enough to step out of the refresher, feeling better mentally and physically.

He’s nowhere to be seen, likely still up in the cockpit. I could join him, but for what? Small talk while the stars race by us at drop neck speed?

The adrenaline was long gone from my system. That intimidating, emotionless stare was just that, it unraveled my brain for a moment here and there now that I was not fighting for my life.

Best to leave him at his own devices, then.

Instead I gathered what he gave me to eat, before swapping the stiff cot for the floor, where I could at least lean back flat against the wall by the cockpit ladder and stretch my legs out. I eat in silence, sip at the water that tastes stale but serves just as well, and try to relax against the hard metal.

I doze for a bit again, hard to keep myself awake with nothing to do, head vibrating against the hull as we move inexplicably fast through the universe, trying to plan. Hopefully where he lands is a populated part of Tatooine. Habitable, where I can find work.

I didn't have many skills outside hand-to-hand combat and some light blaster training, not enough to ask if he can point me in the right direction for finding bounty work-- a daunting idea that I dismissed as soon as I came up with it. The scavenging was easy enough, a matter of unscrewing to slicing welds and yanking parts out. My ship knowledge was basic at best, knowing the general anatomy at most. I did lots of pick up jobs back home, but most had a manageable skill curve. I learned fast because I had to, quickly becoming a jack of all trades, master of none-- although _all_ was a massive overstatement.

I could wait tables. Every town had a cantina, and every cantina needs someone to run around delivering drinks, washing dishes, serving food. Almost every planet had wreckages after the galactic civil war, it wasn't hard to gut out imperial and republic fighters if you knew where to pull.

_Dank farik,_ I hated being at square one again.

It's a few hours into sitting at the floor, perpetually going in circles on what I was going to do, when the wall cot door opens on its own.

Soundless. My head snaps up, alert as a small grunt comes from around the crates, and appears a green creature stepping slowly towards me.

The baby I heard. Just a child. It's waddle suggested it was in the throes of toddler-hood, recently able to walk.

It was so small, and yet, irrational fear stabs at me as it comes determinedly towards me. I’ve never seen any creature like it, making my stomach go uneasy.

It stops a few feet away, head cocking and ears twitching in thought. It looks innocent enough, like a child.

Thinking of its caretaker, it could be a little monster in disguise, there to sic on stowaways and trouble-causing bounties.

It waddles forward, a little hand bracing its tiny weight on my foot. I’m glad I cleaned them off, or the kid would get messy fast. 

As if it was checking me out before deciding if I was worth the energy or not, it trills happily, as the shine of a metal ball appears in its other hand, from the fold of fabric around it.

I take a deep breath. It really is just a child.

"Hey," both of us look up to where the Mandalorian looks down, before taking stairs two by two as he comes down. His tone is flat, but authoritative. The little creature squeals happily, letting the ball fall away as he flexes his little fingers at the masked boulder of a man.

And he bends, scooping him up with an arm. 

"I told you, stay in the cot, kid." He scolds but he seems to have lost the authoritative edge.

A small smile creeps at the corner of my lips, not sure what to make of this situation. After hearing the rumors at the cantina, you expected a hardened bounty hunter. And he was, I suppose.. Unless this kid was involved.

Having this bundle of green and brown against his chest immediately made him look that less threatening. Not that I would test that idea, unsure what to do but look straight up at them both from my low position not far from the ladder he descended from.

"What is he?” I ask quietly from my spot on the floor, capturing the ball as it rolls against my thigh.

He's quiet for a long moment, tilting his helmet down to me.

"I don't know." He answers, looking back to the big eared baby, who coos to himself, contently tucked in the arm of the most dangerous hunter to exist, according to legend.

I look down to the ball in my hand, neck strained. It's been scuffled up, but was still shiny enough for the kid to like. One end had a threaded hole, which meant it went to something likely important. 

Yeah, he was just a kid. 

"Is he.. Yours?" I ask next, wondering how much I can get away with under his statuesque demeanor. I don't know if I was implying that _he_ was wrinkled and green under his helmet, or if this child was a passenger like I was.

He seems to weigh my words regardless, visor seemingly trained on the kid as he thinks.

"For now."

I reel a little bit. Whatever _that_ means. Adoptive? Temporary like I was? I study how he holds the kid, visor tilting from his big ears back to me, at his feet.

Standing, bending the stiffness in my legs away, the baby erupts with a slur of unintelligible noises, little hands reaching out to me.

At first, I wonder why the hell it wants _me_ , a stranger, but quickly realizes it knows I have its stolen toy.

Seeing the distraught crease above his wide eyes, I hand it over, letting him gingerly take it with his little green hands. A beat, he looks up at the Mandalorian almost smugly.

As expected, the expressionless man sighs, looking over to me as the baby coos and clutches the ball.

"He's not supposed to have that," he scolds quietly, the baby uninfected by the tone.

"I assumed so."

"Then why did you give it back?" Annoyed. I can hear it cross in his tone.

I blink a little at him, raising a brow. "Because I saw a fit coming a mile away if I didn't."

He’s silent for a moment, helmet tilted to look down at me.

"You don't know a lot about children, do you?"

He tilts his visor. "Do you?"

I cross my arms, defensive. His stare is hard to breathe under, even with the gurgly kid in his arm. Forget the kid damaging his image, the fact that he could bounce between the almost caring demeanor with the kid to being annoyed and clipped with me was enough to make me squirm under his stare. 

"Enough. I used to help my Mother watch the kids she taught. We didn't often have babies, but toddlers.. Terrors, when they don't get their way."

He studies me for a long moment, unmoving even as the kid taps the ball against his armor gently, playing in his arm.

"What?" I prompt, unsure what to make of his silence. The child looks between up, big ears folding away as he looks up at the Mandalorian.

He gently shakes his head for a moment, before tilting the visor towards me again.

“Nothing. I assumed you came from Nal Hutta.” he answers flatly.

“Is that what.. The bounty said?” I furrowed my brows, taking a breath. Where this came from I don’t know, but I wanted to find out. 

“The puck said nothing but to find you and deliver you to the contractor.”

Quick. Matter of fact. I purse my lips, I was just a bounty to him a handful of hours ago. 

Yesterday, perhaps? How long did I sleep?

“I assumed you knew your way around the city because you lived there. Why else would you stay on-planet?” He continues, when I don't reply.

Disarmed again. He was observant, it seems, likely knew about the three that came before him. And knowing the streets was due to necessity, when the rain comes down in thick sheets where you can't see ten feet in front of you, it made it impossible to navigate with any speed if I didn't know my way around.

I shake my head, gathering my response. “I didn't have a way off planet. I.. just adapted to what I had, I suppose. Got lucky for a few months.”

His response comes quicker than any other. “Very lucky. You weren't even hiding.”

I was already defensive of my plans, or lack thereof, and his button-pressing only annoyed me. That intimidating stare was losing its edge. “I did fine.”

“Till I came along.” I almost hear his scoff. The gull!

The baby squeals then, bending brows looking between us. I ignore its stare, looking back up to its caretaker. Something told me I shouldn’t poke the bear, especially when the bear was double my size and likely had a short temper. 

See, this is why I couldn't do the servitude thing, even if it was consensual. It was too easy to run my mouth.

“If the mud wasn't thick as thieves-- you know what? No, forget the blasted mud, if I just heeded the rumors at the cantina and left like I should, I wouldn't be in this ff-- damn mess.” I argue, pulling my crossed arms tighter around my chest. The kid still stares unsure between us both, reminding me to watch my mouth at least.

I can tell he wants to retaliate, but he stops himself, shaking his head again. The kid taps his ball against his chest again, and I’m unsure if it's in comfort or in annoyance, too. I hope it’s the latter.

It's a long moment before he moves, apparently deciding to cut off this conversation before it's really over.

He dismisses me with almost a huff from his modulator, turning to go up to the cockpit again with the kid in one arm.

I return with an equally annoyed huff. It's going to be a long few days in hyperspace.


	3. CHAPTER 3: EXTREMELY LUCKY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! AO3 is now up to date with my posts on tumblr. Due to some scedule changes I haven't had time to write (I still am! It's just slow!) so I think from here on out they'll be updated in tandem.
> 
> This is also the last chapter to have split POV. From here on out, it's in Sana's pov!
> 
> Find me at impxlsive.tumbr.com, ask questions or just say hi! I take requests and just like chatting with people!

\----| SANA

The kid is probably the most entertaining thing on the ship, so when he's left in the Mandalorian’s cot or finds his way down to the hull, I know I have at least an hour of fun before the Mandalorian steps in. The child is easy to please, all things considered. I share some of my ration meal, which he gobbles up easily. The ball, something that I've seen the Mandalorian take back four times now in two days, always finds its way back to the little guy, and whenever the Mandalorian catches us down at the hull, rolling the ball back and forth from the foot or two between us, I swear to stars above that this kid rubs it in every. Single. Time.

Its hilarious, but I don't let it show. Especially when the tower of beskar that sometimes strangles the air with his few words and long stares, breaks to lift him up and carry him off to take care of, either barely out of view (the floor spot I claimed was better than the cot, where he had silently pulled out a folded mattress that attaches and spare blankets) at his cot or up in the elusive cockpit.

I don't follow. I'm no use as a copilot, not like we've had any issues thus far. I would only get in the way, not to mention the awkwardness of invading his space for no good reason besides my boredom.

We haven't spoken, besides common courtesy. He hands me a ration pack, my response is immediate and only from years of being scolded about _pleases_ and _thank yous_. He's only returned it twice, with admittedly forced sounding _your welcomes_.

There's no way to decipher how he's feeling or what he's thinking, under the helmet. He crawls into his cot, kid in a hammock just above, with all of his beskar still on.

And his stares. Between the few words we shared, he seemed to stare quietly when he was down in the hull between interactions. I assumed he was still annoyed at me for snapping at him. If I looked back enough, neither of us were at fault for our predicament. Being taken was out of our control, and the bounty was only a result of my escape. I got hurt because of my words and actions, which I don't regret. He was only doing his job when he found me-- and I knew his job must usually be more helpful than not, regardless of what he has to do to get it done. I had seen countless hunters drag unwilling bounties, characters that didn't deserve to walk free, out of the cantina. There was of course a surplus of nasty people on Hutta, but one less asshole taking up space at the bar, the better.

In the end, he did the right thing, staring down a heaping container of credits and choosing to help me escape, instead. If he took them anyway, I wouldn’t have blamed him. He didn't even look back once his decision was made. I wish I knew why, but it didn't matter.

Still, when the kid isn't around, I replay that night trying to figure out the best course of action. I’ve stayed longer at the cantina before, the one I worked at having a backdoor that leads almost directly to the jungles. I could hide, and if the Mandalorian came looking I had a quick out. But the jungles.. 

The jungle was hard to navigate at times and was too dangerous to venture through often at all. The thick swampland might cover my tracks, but if he knew his shit there would always be a trail to follow.

The last hunter, before the Mandalorian, knew his shit.

I had done just that, escape to the jungle when rumor hit that a bounty hunter was asking for a girl that sounded like me. Then, I had carried my go-bag everywhere, so I had all I needed when I walked a few miles out into the jungle and up one of the large webbing trees. It took two days, two painful days of avoiding the wildlife and biding my time with my limited rations before he walked into view. He followed my footsteps quickly, realizing they ended at the rough gnashes into the mud at the base where I struggled to find my footing up the trunk.

The trees were thick with foliage, but I didn't go up that high. At the first sturdy enough branch, maybe twenty feet up as that was much too high for me already, I was now in plain sight.

He wasn't a climber, to put it simply. He also didn't raise his blaster to force me from the tree, which would have made the Dragonsnake’s day when it got him in a few hollow bites, not ten minutes after he started yelling up for me to come down.

It took a few hours to settle my racing heart, to let the beast slither off into the deeper swampland, and to carefully make my way down with shaky legs.

The walk back was nerve wracking, but I made it in one piece. The sight of his half eaten body between the beasts' shallow gulps, the agonizing, mile long stare, limp limbs flopping in the watery mud, it all shook me pretty hard-- primary reason why I was reluctant to take that route again when the Mandalorian came around. All in all, I was just lucky to make it out of any previous adventures alive.

_Extremely lucky._

Even if I did lead him out into the swampland, I doubt the Mandalorian would have much trouble. He seemed to have tools at his disposal, the tripwire being just one that I had the pleasure to experience. For all I knew maybe he was a climber, and would easily rope me up and drag me down with him.

Or maybe he would have shot at the tree till I scrambled down, vulnerable with little to no cover that would easily burn away, dropping me to the water below.

I would recognize the ring of trees that I went to the first few times, but I never went farther than that. There, I was already too far out with no trail back, but maybe my best bet with the Mandalorian was to keep moving. The swamps were sticky and slow moving, as long as I keep a steady pace and don't get eaten by the wildlife, maybe I would have been just far enough out of his reach. From there.. Maybe I would have gathered the courage to shoot him. Maybe the deadly jungle would kill him for me.

But I suppose my luck would run out eventually.

I'm asleep when he pulls it out of hyperdrive, almost falling out of the little cot. I catch myself before I fall completely out, tensing my body before sliding to my feet with stiff legs barely holding me up, gripping at the cot as I steady myself.

I blink lazily, hazy from suddenly being jostled awake, before I straighten and shake off the sleep. I run my fingers through my hair, tie it up and out of the way, and give my back a stretch. The cot was better with the thin mattress, but there was still stiff durasteel underneath. The ship slows, maneuvering as we enter the atmosphere.

This time, I climbed up the cockpit ladder so I could see where we were going. As I appear at the top, I watch his helmet tilt enough to show he was fully aware of my footsteps upwards. I ignore him, standing fully before wagging my fingers in hello to the child who coos in greeting as I come into view.

The wide window is bright, compared to the dark hull I've lived in for the last few days. The suns were behind us, as we raced across the dunes to the speck of civilization in the distance. Hand on the copilot seat where the kid sat to steady myself, I watched as we approached and settled into a repair depot on the edge of the town.

End of the line. Time to give stale goodbyes, also out of courtesy, and disappear into the sandy town.

The kid pulls at the hem of my shirt, offering a knowing look. He gurgles up at me as the Mandalorian shuts the engines off. I give him a pat, a silent goodbye from his new playmate, and ease down the ladder again.

I don't have things to gather, besides my blaster under the pillow. I clip it on, decide to fold the blanket enough so my temporary space wasn't messy at least, and wait for the Mandalorian to come down, moments later. Kid in one arm, he silently leads to the hatch and lowers the ramp.

"Shoulda’ saw your piece of junk a mile away," a ringing voice sounds before the end of the ramp makes contact on the dirt. We both step to the bottom of the ramp, curiously taking me as I seek out the source. A frizzy-haired woman steps from the shadow of the building, emerging from the door beside a window that must be her office. 

She has her hands on hips as she approaches, a disgruntled look on her features. Three helper droids zoom around her feet, unsure if they should get working yet. Judging by the looks she gave him, I suspected these two had history, and she wasn't happy to see him again.

"I need some repairs," he states flatly, emotionless as the woman approaches and softens at the kid in his arms. She barely glances at me as I step away.

I don't think he sees me either as I salute him off, turning sharply from the ramp to the slack gate towards what I presume to be the town.

\----| MANDO

I know her sleep schedule is off by a few hours, because when I passed by her cot, she was dead asleep. I didn't know if she’d want me to wake her or leave her be, a passing thought as I made it up the cockpit ladder regardless to take us out of hyperdrive.

I feel bad, knowing it would knock her a bit from the force. I tried not to pay attention, how the last few days she had gotten only scraps of sleep. She snored when sleep did take over, and it was an hour here, hour there, between meals or long stretches of quiet.

I hate how I haven't slept since the afternoon before her hunt. I've seen her interact with the kid, apprehensive at how easily he gravitated towards her, but she didn’t seem to be a danger to him. Anxiety was an awful stimulant, sleep elusive at best as I laid uncomfortably in my cot; lulled into stillness by the kid’s snores and hers, briefly finding themselves in tandem. Stars, I was tired, and ready for three to become two again. I hated how I didn’t do well with new things.

We haven't really spoken since she snapped at me. That was new.

I don't blame her. I don’t know what I was doing, but I realized too late I had struck a chord. It stung harder than it would be if I just annoyed her, she had just been through hell and back. Running, hiding, being captured again only to fight her way out again. And I poked the bantha.

I was a bastard sometimes. What was I even thinking? I could have kept my mouth shut like I do with every other blasted person I meet, but there was some unseen force willing me to find out more, prompt for her story, to learn.

I sit stagnant in my chair, waiting the few minutes for hyper to be ready for the drop as the thoughts circle for the thousandth time. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

Behind my eyelids I can see her arm flexing past my visor, tensing under her long sleeve as she fires. I didn't even flinch when she pulled her blaster from my side. I can see the dark satisfaction in her eyes as she told off her to-be owner, The thin shine of spit glinting at her chin before she was knocked to the ground. I can still feel my blaster arm tense in response.

I can see her apprehensive vulnerability in her eyes before she took the medkit, holding back the emotions that must have hit her hard once past the refresher door. I can see the angry glint as she crosses her arms, still able to hold back a swear to spare the kid, who had undoubtedly heard worse from my slip ups.

I don't know how to respond to that, to her, to the rawness she brought so suddenly. How she hides it just as quick.

Her bruises at her nose and cheeks were a sickly yellow purple now, still healing. I wasn't used to the soft pangs of guilt when she stared back at me, just as hard as I knew I did at times.

A soft beep pulls me from my thoughts, and I pull us out as gentle as my beat up Razor can. When we ease closer to the dunes, breaking from the thin cloud line, following the invisible path to Mos Eisley, Sana’s footsteps are clear on the ladder. I turn my head, barely able to see her stand from the corner of my visor. I do see her hand, as she waves quietly to his gurgling wiggles before using his seat to hold herself steady. Wordlessly, I turn back to the dunes and guide the Razor into Peli’s repair hangar.

Her footsteps lead down again behind me as soon as I shut the engines off. I turn in my seat to the kid, who looks to me with a recognizable curiosity.

"Remember Peli?" I ask quietly, unstrapping him and lifting him up. "Look cute, alright? I'm going to have to haggle hard this time."

He looks up to me with the same widened eyes, and little smile as always.

Stepping down with him, I share a small look with Sana before leading to the ramp controls. My stare doesn’t linger, I try not to. Her bruises are still vibrant against her gentle features. The ramp eases down, letting in the hot, acrid air of Tatooine.

"Shoulda’ seen your piece of junk a mile away." Peli calls, as she steps from the door by her office. 

The Razor wasn't in the best shape, serviceable but was in desperate need of repairs before anything died on me. It's been a few months, too many hard landings or take offs, dogfights and weaving between natural obstacles avoiding capture or death.

I knew I could find cheaper work elsewhere. But I trusted Peli, even if she didn't really trust me.

I can't offer anything but emotionless stares and the child, so I lean into him a bit as her eyes catch his wide green ears. _Hook, line.._

"I need some repairs," I grumble, a little peeved that she still dislikes the Razor. I let her approach, hands reaching for his little ones in greeting.

"Good to see the little guy is in one piece. Your ship looks like it's just about falling apart." She comments, straightening to look up to my visor.

"Could you work on it?" A beat passes as she studies the ship from where she stood. "Droids are fine."

She gives me a tilted look, hands on hips. She then steps away, looking up at the hull as she starts listing issues she sees.

"It’s going to cost you." She finishes, looking back to us.

"500 credits." I offer, hoping the kid was being extra cute at that moment. Watching Peli tighten her expression, I already knew it wasn’t enough.

"More like 900. Your leaking fluid, buddy, that's a replacement part, not just a repair."

_Not_ a sinker. I sigh, looking down at the dirt as I think of a counterpoint. "700. I'll get work in town."

"800, and I'll watch the kid for free."

I tilt my helmet and stare at her sharply. Nothing was free with Peli.

But, I trusted her with the kid. I was low on credits, but that in itself was worth the extra cost. The Razor needed this, unsure how much longer I could skate by under Republic radar to avoid a fight or paying the extra fee for parking in shipyards to make landing that much easier. My decision was made for me as soon as we stepped off my ship.

"Fine."

She then smiles and holds out her hands for the kid, who I reluctantly hand over. He gurgles, not entirely happy with the trade but smiles at Peli anyway. _Work your magic, kid._

"So who was the girl?" She asks suddenly, head nodding over my shoulder. I turn, and realize Sana had disappeared sometime during that conversation.

I suppose there was no reason for her to stick around once we landed.

"Ah," I pause, looking back to Peli. "She just needed transport."

"Huh." She gives a cautious look, and I'm assuming that's due to the nasty bruise on her nose. "Well uh, it'll be a few days to work on it. Just get me the credits by the end of the week."

I nod once, before turning too towards the gate into town.

\----| MANDO

As always, work was hard to come by. Thankfully there were no crooked wannabe bounty hunters offering to share, instead the service droid at the cantina counter gave short, yet helpful responses in its modulated basic. He pointed me across the way, where's smaller food stall with grimy looking proprietors stood. 

Asking for work there almost started trouble. Ignoring the heckling, they did give me a retrieval job, some gear lost in the dunes. Low level, but a start.

The retrieval went easy enough. Recovering the speeder from Peli’s shop, I loaded the back end with half rooted through crates and wobbled my way back into town, 100 credits in hand. Two days later, I caught the eye of some merchants looking for protection on their way to find a Jawa sandcrawler, for trade. 

My presence was enough, undesirable scavengers stayed away and the Jawas didn't give me a second look, trading the parts easily. Another 300 credits.

Afternoon creeped quickly, the setting suns casting fiery orange rays down on the sandy walls of Peli’s repair hangar. Deciding I’d check again tomorrow, as always. I was already making quick work at my debt, and hoped I could round it out with at least one more decent job before having to dip into my currently limited funds.

Approaching the hangar, Peli was sitting at the table of cards, kid in her lap, watching the droids sort the spare parts needed. I was tempted to ask why they weren't working, but caught movement by the ship. I round the lowered ramp, seeing the lower half of someone poking out of my ship.

_Sana._

She bends, pulling her upper half out of an access panel, part of the bruise at the bridge of her nose hidden with grease. Her sleeves are balled at her biceps, hair tied haphazardly at the crown of her head. The little droid at her feet twitters angrily, and she responds with her own snappy response.

"Yes _I_ _know_ the green pipe. Tightened, cleaned, then the radiator pump next to it-"

She spots me, and I watch for a moment longer as she stands straighter, with her hands on her hips as she takes a breather from the stuffy cavity.

"I thought you'd be out of my hair as soon as we land." I comment, hoping the humor is obvious through the modulator. She raises a brow, but her response doesn't sound as snappy as she was with the droid.

"I needed to find work. Getting stiffed everywhere else, Peli offered to teach me some basic mechanics." She explains, as the little droid snaps its head back and forth at us both.

“Teach you _basics_? And you’re here, while Peli is playing cards in the shade?” I question, barely tilting my visor in the mechanic’s direction.

At this, her expression tightens. I think she fights to roll her eyes, instead glaring down to the small droid. “Don't worry, your ship will be fine. This _hunk of scrap_ keeps zapping me if I even think about pulling the wrong wire.”

The droid retaliates with a series of beeps. I never fully grasped binary, never cared to properly learn--but I knew from the ‘tone’ that it wasn't happy.

I don't comment that this makes me feel _much_ better, that an inexperienced mechanic is toying with my radiator, supervised by a droid that condenses to the size of a plate and scares at the slightest movement. 

When her eyes return to me, a smile is trying to escape her lips, apparently catching something that I didn't in the droid’s retaliation. I don't get a chance to ask, footsteps coming behind me.

"Alright, he’s cursing _one of you_ out. There's not a problem, is there?" Peli butts in, walking over to us both.

Sana is quick to shake her head. Hands tuck behind her back, and I’m relieved I can hide my smile. “He’s just being moody.”

_Great_. Add ‘droid with anger-issues’ to the list. This was becoming a comically terrible situation.

Sighing away a chuckle, I give a nod to Peli as she comes to my side, napping kid in her arms. I'd take him then, turning in for the night anyway, but he clings to her jacket and snores loudly. Best to leave him be for now.

I’m able to prepare some warm food by the time Peli creeps up the ramp, handing over the kid as he ravenously wiggles in her arms. It's like the kid knows when food is near, and gravitates towards it like a sixth sense-- I actually wouldn't put it past him, seeing him remove the thruster nob and hover it to his hands from across the cockpit dozens of times.

The sun was setting, day over. I peek out to the main yard, where Sana is nowhere to be seen. I don't know why I expected her to be not far from Peli, offering a goodnight as well, and try not to feel disappointed as I closed the door for the night, returning to the makeshift seats to hand the kid a little cup of broth.

By morning I was handing him off again, just as Sana stepped through the gate.

She looked dusty. The grease was cleaned from her arms and face, but it was obvious she spent the night outside.

I should mention that the temporary cot was still down, that I was in town for another few days if the repairs are going as slow as they are. It was something, a peace offering after the four days we sat in irritated silence.

I part my lips to ask her where she spent the night, when I hear the whine of a plasma rifle charging in my peripheral.

I switch gears instantly. Stepping around her as she passes, I put my armor in between her and the thick shot of plasma that ricochets off my bracer and into the dirt.

Her blaster is unclipped as soon as I stand straight, visor focused on the barrel peeking over the edge of the curved hangar, between two vent spires. Someone must've climbed up and found a place to roost till I emerged.

Sana’s blaster moves, and I turn to see three others step from the cargo and piled junk around the yard, blasters drawn.

Sana immediately puts herself in front of Peli and the kid, who she waves to back up into the office.

"Heard that kid is worth more than your armor, Mando." A voice calls, the rifleman. "Dead or alive."

I have comebacks, but I don't bother with them. His rifle is trained directly behind Sana, and my chest thumps with paternalistic anger. 

He’s not touching a _single grey hair_ on his head.

One of the ground thugs makes a run for Sana, and her blaster shot hits him square in the chest. That frantic panic returns in her face, but her body is stiff as she moves to train it on the next nearest bandit.

Another charges me, who I twist his arm, dropping his blaster, before knocking him face first to the dirt. My blaster snaps out, trained on the back of his head.

"If you fight, you're not walking away from this." I threaten, which makes the last man go stiff. “Who do you work for?”

"I don't think you’re in a place to make demands, Mando. You still have a rifle trained on your little friend--" moving my arm, my aim falls on the rifle, blasting it out of its hiding spot before he can continue. The metal barrel goes red hot, the hidden man scrambles not to burn himself and accidentally sends the rifle over the edge and into the dirt below. _Amateur._

The two remaining bandits scramble up, barely looking our way as I train my baster on their backs as they move.

A heavy thump accompanied by a grunt of pain sounds past the gate, and I need to follow, _now_. I look back to Sana, and she's already nodding.

"I got the kid." She calls, still standing stiffly between them and anything else who might get in her way.

Trust shouldn’t come this easy, but I'm off without hesitation toward the gate to catch the fleeing thugs before they escape to the desert.

The chase is short, thank the stars. I blast the one I hadn't seen in the yard, in a deep blue jacket, clipping his shoulder purposefully so he rolls into the dirt street. 

Merchants and buyers understand to get out of the way as I approach, pinning him to the ground with my foot on his bad shoulder. He yelps in pain, hands fumbling at the beskar boot, as I stay unmoving.

“Who do you work for?” I demanded again, words clipped and rough. My blaster trains on his face as he goes wide eyed, panic setting in.

“N-No one, I swear!” He gasps, fingers white as he pushes on my boot, futile. 

“Who told you what the kid was worth?” I push, boot moving only because I decide to grind into his freshly cauterized wound. He lets out a strangled cry, gasping for air.

“R-rumors,” He pants, arms stiff as he fumbles at my foot. “Since you came in, asking for work. Someone said the I-Im-Imperials want the kid-- I s-swear, we were just looking for some quick credits, I don't know any-anything else--”

I grumble under my breath, letting the anger fall away, little by little. _Idiotic womp rat thugs--_

“If I see you or any of your friend’s faces again, I’ll remove them.” I threaten darkly, scraping my boot across his arm as I release him. He scrambles, meeting with his friends who stood at the cover of the nearest building-- ones who did nothing to help him. _Cowardly idiots._

I huff as they disappear, letting the anger subside. I go to turn back to the repair ship when a weight shifts by my foot--I notice at my feet, spilling out into the dirt street, is a credit pouch. 

The owner was long gone, forgetting it completely.

When I return, they're both sitting at the card table, Sana’s blaster sitting over the few flayed hands, waiting for my word in the shadow of the rising sun.

"Gone." I answer as I approach, silently enjoying the immediate change in temperature in the shade. I drop the small satchel at the table, as it sags with credits, some of mine but mostly what was left behind.

"Every time you come by, danger follows." Peli gives a disapproving look, not immediately reaching for the money as she watches me.

"1000 credits, extra for the trouble." I offer, trying to be sympathetic. 

She humphs, but takes the bag after a long look.

"Next time a blaster is fired while your ship is in my yard, my rates double."

I tilt my head down, unsure how to respond to that. Kriff, I wasn't doing a good job at keeping a reliable mechanic.. And babysitter.

I look over to Sana, who steels her surprised expression as soon as my helmet tilts her direction. A thought surfaces, and it doesn’t take much for me to seriously consider it. As Peli stands, off to go stash the credits with the kid in her arms, I decide easily on what I was about to do.

She was good with a blaster. Had drive to protect herself and others, without a thought. The kid liked her, and she knew her way around children more than I did-- having previous experience. I doubt she’d want to stay on Tatooine for long anyway, and this would be easier than putting aside credits for her own way off planet. 

I told myself no strays. But was she really just a stray at this point?

I take Peli’s seat, sinking into the warped metal carefully. I take a moment to choose my words, tilting my visor to her again.

"Nice shooting."

"Muscle memory." She replies in kind. "Took out the guy at the vents easy enough."

I nod a little. "He was poking out like a sore thumb.”

There's a long pause, as Peli can be heard clanking around, chatting annoyingly at the kid. I'm not good at this, small talk, so I cut to the chase.

"I’ll give you a cut of my credits if you're willing to watch the kid, and offer backup if it comes to it." I offer quietly, turning to look directly at her. She blinks in surprise, brows furrowing as she shakes her head.

"I don't know what I'm doing. I was taught to shoot straight, that's about it. I'm not.. I don't want to do hunter work."

I nod a little. I sense there's more to that, and ignore the fact that she's kicked ass since we met. Bounty hunter work is a rough trade, if she would rather not be a part of it that was fine by me. "Then just watch the kid. That in itself is help enough."

She watches me with a pointed look, leg tapping against the dirt with anxiety.

"You really want me on your ship, full time." She starts, cocking her head. "Slavers could come to collect any time."

Shrugging, I sit back in the chair, seeing a faded ray of light bounce off my beskar chest plate to the card table. "Slavers are scummy, rather save their own skin then risk it. Won't be hard to handle."

"What about.. About the guild. The bounty on my head. Someone's bound to be upset that instead of turning me in, you're offering me work." She pushes, brows creasing as she seemingly stares straight to my eyes through the visor.

"As far as the guild is concerned, I completed your bounty and we have nothing to do with each other." I reply, not sure if it's completely true. Without someone to confirm or deny her retrieval? It was a toss. I assumed Greef would rather drop the bounty than bring unnecessary trouble nowadays, I suppose I'd find out when the ship is repaired-- I needed work after this.

She's quiet for a moment, weighing my words. Her eyes go from the relatively still square of light to my visor again. "Just to watch the kid."

"Keep him fed and happy, don't let anyone I don't trust near him. That’s all."

Her question is quick. "Who do you trust?"

I gesture to the office door. "Very few. Peli is one of them."

"I don't think she wants to play babysitter for much longer." She raises a brow, a smile slowly creeping at her cheeks. I stare for a moment, transfixed with how her cheek dimples just slightly in the shade of the hangar.

"That's why I'm offering it to you." I reply after a moment, realizing my tone dip from my flat, informative tone, to something softer.

She sits back, eyes drifting over my shoulder as Peli’s footsteps approach.

I sit still for a moment, watching the worry crease her forehead before she steels her expression again. I look away when Peli stops just behind the chair, stiffly standing to offer her seat back.

It was early. They likely needed more time to fix the ship, and I suddenly felt as if I needed to keep my hands busy, my thoughts at bay with any work I can scramble up in town.

I don't glance at either of them as a head towards the gate.

"Did you replace the coolant tubes?" Peli asks as I step away, and Sana’s response is quick. 

"Yes. The power cell on the side- the left, it looks corroded.."

I'm too far away to hear, glad to breathe a sigh as I'm left alone on the dusty street.


End file.
